And Ávera . . . Ávera burns.
The great trees, the ones that cradled our homes within their mighty arms, are now consumed by fire. The sacred wood screams, a desperate, cracking wail as the flames crawl up their trunks. Their golden lanterns shatter in bursts of light to fall like dying stars into the abyss of ruin below. And worse than the sight—is the sound. Screams.
Not just the dying groans of the trees, but the anguished, soul-wrenching cries of my people.
Vólkins lie broken across the land, their massive bodies torn apart, some still breathing, still twitching as their blood stains the earth in thick pools of crimson. Others—goddesses above, others—are being dragged away. The creatures haul them into the shadows, pulling them through the ruins, vanishing with them before I can even take a step.
The females and pups are gone. I can only hope they’re safe in the shelters.
A thunderous roar erupts from Theron, his fury shaking the earth beneath us, but even that raw sound cannot drown out the chaos.
A creature stands over a fallen vólkin warrior, its skeletal fingers wrapped around his jaw, prying it open, tilting its grotesque head as if examining a specimen rather than a living being. The warrior growls, but he is too far gone to fight back.
The creature leans closer. Its mouth opens—wider, wider—splitting at the corners until its jaw unhinges. A voice spills from its throat in a warbled, broken sound. “Not... this one.”
And then, like a piece of discarded meat, it drops him, turns away, and moves on.
Not this one.They are choosing. They are not here to kill indiscriminately. They are taking some. And they are leaving the rest to rot. They came to harvest them.
For what?
A fire unlike anything I have ever felt ignites within me.
A rage that consumes every doubt, every shred of restraint left in my body.
“Kill them.” My voice is barely a whisper, but Theron hears it. He growls so deeply it shakes the marrow in my bones. And then I scream. The sound rips from my throat, shaking the skies and echoing into the night like a war cry from the depths of my very soul.
“KILL THEM ALL!”
The army erupts into motion, a wave of fury that crashes into the monsters that have defiled our home. I sprint forward, sword raised, and run it through the first creature that dares stand in my way. Its skin is too soft, it peels away beneath my blade as if cutting through rotting fruit. It shrieks, but still moves. Andthen, they all turn toward the sound. Their hollow eyes lock onto me.
They do not feel pain.
They do not fear death.
They only understand orders.
And whatever command they have been given, it is not yet complete.
The first monster lunges at me, its movements erratic. I swing my sword, the blade slices through its torso, but—nothing.
No scream. No stagger.
No death.
The thing keeps moving, as if I hadn’t just gutted it from hip to rib. Its hollow eyes snap to mine, its lipless mouth curling into something grotesquely close to a grin.
I don’t hesitate. I won’t. I shift my grip, spin on my heel, and slash through its neck in a single strike. Its head snaps back, but it doesn’t fall.
The body keeps moving, its decapitated head hanging on by nothing but threads of sinew. Still, it reaches for me. Goddesses, what are these things?
A deafening snarl rips through the battlefield as Theron barrels past me, his claws rake down a monster’s back, tearing straight through flesh, tendons, and bone. He twists, jaws nearly unhinging before he bites into its neck and rips its throat out in one motion.
It doesn’t die.
It still moves.
Theron throws the writhing corpse to the ground, crushing its ribs beneath his massive paws. He stomps its chest into the dirt and snarls when it still twitches.
